Sunday, 17 April 2016

Part XVII and Gray Nicholls 'The Great War II'

(NB. Our faceless silent patient enemies from the end of II hover here again. What is this purpose? All shall be revealed)

(Also included is the second part, hinted before from my good friend Gray Nicholls
with the second part of his poem 'The Great War' simply called 'The Great War II')


Unreproved, unwound
Back to the beginning

Chewed up in pieces
Of broken tape

Different languages

Signalling contempt
Drowned in love

Erotic in memory
Carrying revenge in breath

Trudging slowly
To the end of the tunnel

Waiting patiently
For the perfect moment to strike

Watching as another body
Is lifted out of the water.



The first two kills
Were senseless
And left him
Unaware what he had done
Blood-red starred
With their screams
Like a hushed theatre,

The third cried
And weeped however
Shipwrecked into
Their own nightmare

Cursing him all
The way to death
Moving his toes
Tickling the pavement

Digging in open air
Asking him
What the fuck
Was he

And looking at himself
In the reflection
He didn’t know. 


The Great War II

Drained of blood
The second great war
At the start of the 20th century
With dozens of them
Found dead
All the way down Oxford Road

And clotted all the way
Down the ship canal

Moored up tight
Against the old workhouses
In a gangland style
Mass killing,

Laid up with the occasional
Snapped fang
Which turned to dust
If left in the sunlight

Too long. 

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